Sentinel

Steadfast and strong we stand
all along – waiting for the maker
at bay. Nay he come to demand
the sun – nor he taketh away.

“Rest easy gatekeeper,
tis’ but your first watch –
the winter is long and keen
like a hawk – waiting to sweep
in cold embrace; waiting to take you
to the next place.”

The mission resounds, falling on halls
of slumberous keepers – waiting to fall,
to enter the gate, to meet – to make;
they are the sentinels of fate.

And winter comes – as predicted by son
to guide these souls to place –
only to find a new batch of young
soon to assume their new face…
n’ worn faces of gate, the keepers of late,
say “Rest easy gatekeepers, today.”